


Stress and Taxes

by EmetoOmo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emetophilia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26836129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo/pseuds/EmetoOmo
Summary: A request fic I wrote on Tumblr. Gabe and Jack are stressed about work, about them. Can Gabe overlook their differences when he realizes Jack has stressed himself sick?
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Stress and Taxes

**Author's Note:**

> snailguts asked:  
> A scenario where character A stresses themselves out to a point of being sick, but character B doesn't realize it because they're so busy with whatever they're doing (both characters are stressed, let's focus on financial tensions), but stops what they're doing to comfort A after A throws up.
> 
> ~*~Gratuitous depictions of vomit mentioned in this story.~*~

Jack Morrison’s stomach twisted while he went over the expense reports. While it was nice that Overwatch was governmentally funded, it also meant that there was a ridiculous amount of paperwork and red tape and lines to toe to make sure that they were not only doing the job they felt they needed to do…but also making sure the government got out of them what they wanted. “These expenditures…Reyes, you can’t keep spending like this,” he said pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t just send these kids out there unprepared,” Gabriel snapped. All this bureaucratic paperwork bullshit was nowhere near his thing, and if it weren’t that Jack had practically pleaded that he come, he would have been in the training room, trying to ignore the feeling of what felt like tumultuous specters dancing capriciously beneath his skin. 

“No, and I don’t expect you to. But goddamn, Gabriel. These numbers aren’t adding up.” Jack sighed, throwing the papers down and taking a drink of his coffee. Instantly, he grimaced, his stomach twinging at the intrusion of the acidic liquid long cold. He forced another drink stubbornly to follow it, just chalking it up as stress and having eaten far too much at the luncheon he’d attended with the higher ups. He rubbed his stomach some sorely. 

“Figure it out, Morrison,” Gabriel said, pushing off the wall. “Am I here for any particular reason, or is it just to give you someone to yell at while you balance your pocket book?” 

Jack seethed, standing suddenly. “Really? Gabe, what has gotten into you? You scarcely say two words to me in our quarters, I don’t see you all day here. You disappear for months at a time with recruits, _my recruits_ , and I’m not afforded so much as a warning—let alone knowledge of where you’ll be.”

“Excuse me, whose recruits? You don’t think you have plenty of plastic soldiers to look after, you gotta start poking your head into _my business_? Can’t just be the poster boy, you have to weave your fingers into what doesn’t concern you?!” Gabriel’s blood boiled, and the hurt puppy look that Jack gave him at his words only served to piss him off more. How _dare_ he try to play the victim here? How dare he pretend he didn’t know, that he wasn’t privy to the way people looked at the two of them…like Gabriel was a ghost, a mere shadow of America’s golden boy they had found in Jack? 

“I never—” Jack paused, his stomach giving an audible protesting whine as a pang of oppressive pain swelled in it. It felt so full, so heavy, and the taught muscles of anxiety that gripped it felt like it was threatening to squeeze everything out of him by any means necessary. 

“What Jack? What? Never meant to forsake _us_ for the sake of chasing the spotlight? To step on me on your way clamoring for power? Control? Never could leave well enough alone, and now the one time I have shit going on for me, getting results, getting praise, you’re going to stand there confused as to why I don’t feel like petting your ego at night?” Jack had never seen such fury, such hurt and…resentment…in Gabriel’s eyes. Not toward him, anyway, and the weight of it splashed into his stomach like a heavy stone into the bottom of a fetid pond.

“I-“ A sudden, sour belch escaped from his lips, bringing with it a shaking weakness in his knees and a suffocating flush of heat through is body. Gabriel’s brow twitched, about to speak, only to be interrupted as Jack suddenly pitched forward and vomited. A small trickle of acrid black liquid had surged up between his lips and onto the carpeted floor of his office with relatively little ceremony. Jack only had time to give a plaintive, tearful gaze to Gabriel before a painful sounding wretch tore through his form, announcing a far more forceful, thick wave of chunky, brown viscous ooze projected from him to splatter with a loud, heavy plap, plap, plap at his feet. It splashed his boots and began to soak into the blue of the threading of the carpet, turning it a sickly color.

“Jack…” Gabriel murmured, grabbing a trash can in a puff of black-violet smoke and reappearing beside him to hold it before him and rub his lover’s back. No matter how mad he was at him, he couldn’t just stand there ignoring the way he trembled, the tears that streamed down his face with the strain. He could feel the heat emanating through the thick fabric of Jack’s dress uniform. “You’re sick.”

_Blurrrggghhhhppp!_ A loud wretch and another wave, thicker and chunkier still, came expelling from him, forced further by him giving a choking cough, missing the can entirely. He panted, and dry heaved, spitting into the can. 

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Gabriel sighed, starting to ease him slowly over to the desk, just getting Jack to sit on the edge and hold the waste can for himself while he continued rubbing his back. 

Jack heaved weakly, bringing up a small mouthful of watery vomit and whined.

“Shh, you’re alright. _We’re_ alright.” Gabriel comforted, sighing softly. “You worrying about getting better. This…can be a conversation for the morning.”

“Stay?” Jack pleaded, blue eyes blood shot from his forceful vomiting. 

“I’ll stay,” Gabe promised, sitting down beside him, prepared to help him weather the storm.

-fin-


End file.
